The Atlantis Stone (7 page)

CHAPTER 16

Valentina Antipov cast a critical eye at her reflection. She brushed a speck of dust from her uniform. The four small gold stars on her shoulder boards marked her recent promotion to captain. In the mostly male world of Russian security, it was high acknowledgment.

The dark olive green color of her uniform went well with her deep green eyes. Her long, dark hair was coiled tightly at the back of her head in accordance with regulations. The jacket felt tight across her chest but that couldn't be helped. She picked up the hat, careful not to touch the gleaming visor, admiring the gold and red badge and red piping. It added a touch of color and elegance to the uniform and spoke of authority and tradition.

Today was a special occasion. She was to receive the Medal of the Fatherland, First Class, with Swords. It was an important award, about as good as it got in peacetime. President Vladimir Orlov himself would pin it on. Like the promotion, the medal was an acknowledgment of her work in the Balkans and Germany during the winter just past.

With a final quick check in the mirror, Valentina left her apartment and locked the door behind her. She went down the stairs to the street. A black Lincoln limousine waited to take her to the ceremony in the Kremlin. Modern American cars had taken the place of the aging Zils that once shepherded the elite of Russia around Moscow. A young corporal saluted and held the rear door open for her. Valentina wasn't surprised to see General Vysotsky sitting in the backseat.

"Good morning, Valentina."

"General."

Valentina's mother had been KGB, like Vysotsky. She'd died when Valentina was nine years old. Vysotsky had watched over her after that, supervising her progress and training. He'd never shown her affection that she could remember. She would not have known how to respond if he had. Valentina had long ago clamped down on her emotions, burying her desires for something more than the approval of her instructors.

Vysotsky looked her over and nodded, once.

"Good. Our president appreciates attention to detail."

"I haven't thanked you for recommending me for this decoration," she said.

"Much as I would like to take credit, it's not me you have to thank."

"Who, then?"

"President Orlov. He decided to give you this after I explained to him how your actions in Germany revealed the plot against us."

Valentina's long history with Vysotsky allowed her to address him with familiarity, at least in private. A glass window separated the driver's compartment from the rear. Even so, Valentina suspected everything said in the car would be recorded. She kept her voice neutral and her thoughts to herself.

"It is good that our president was able to call back the forces he was forced to deploy."

The truth was that Orlov had launched an unprovoked invasion of the Baltic states. He'd been tricked into thinking NATO and the West were too weak and too unwilling to respond. Anyone who made the mistake of pointing out that Orlov had been duped would soon find themselves spending time in Lefortovo prison.

Vysotsky, just as aware as Valentina that the car might be bugged, nodded agreement.

"President Orlov only wants peace with the West."

The car entered the Kremlin grounds.

"Where are we going?"

"The president has chosen the Armory for the presentation."

Valentina had expected to be taken to the Senate building, where Orlov had his office and where many official functions took place. Instead, the driver guided them toward the Kremlin Armory and stopped at the entrance. An officer wearing the rank badges of a major waited for them outside. He saluted as Vysotsky got out of the car.

"General. Captain. Please follow me. The president is waiting."

Construction of the current Armory building had started in 1844. It had always been a museum housing prized artifacts of Russian history.

They found President Orlov standing in front of the ivory throne of Ivan the Terrible, the first Czar of Russia. An aide and a photographer stood not far away. Orlov had his hands clasped behind his back, contemplating the elaborate carving on the throne.

A brilliant diplomat and a ruthless general, Ivan the Terrible had single-handedly created the Russian Empire. His nickname was well deserved. Paranoid and mentally unstable, Ivan was remembered as much for barbaric cruelty as for diplomatic successes.

Valentina had never been in the museum. She looked at the magnificent throne and then at Orlov. His expression was rapt. Nearby was a display case holding the Imperial Crown of Czarist Russia. The magnificent crown glittered with gold and priceless jewels.

He'd like to be sitting on that throne,
she thought,
wearing that crown.

Orlov turned to her and smiled. His flat, blue eyes almost twinkled. He could have been someone's favorite relative, but Valentina was not fooled. Behind the twinkle was a shrewd and calculating presence. Having Orlov turn his attention to you was like being in a room with a half domesticated wolf. You could never be quite sure what the wolf was going to do.

"Look at that, Captain." He gestured at the throne. "The man who sat there is an inspiration for us all. His vision founded our nation."

"Yes, Mister President. A man to admire."

The lie came easily. Valentina thought Ivan the Terrible was a butcher, a madman like Stalin. She didn't share the thought out loud. Everyone knew Orlov admired Stalin.

For such a powerful man, the Russian president was not impressive in size, not even as tall as Valentina. She knew he was much stronger than he looked. The Russian media liked to point out Orlov's physical prowess, his ability to swim long distances and lift heavy weights.

Briefly, she wondered what he'd be like in bed.

Probably quick to finish and quick to leave.

His mind still on Ivan, Orlov said, "More than admire. He is a man we should strive to emulate, committed to Mother Russia and her role as the greatest power in the world."

"Yes, Mister President," Valentina said again.

"It is young officers like you who are the future of our country, Captain," Orlov said. He turned to Vysotsky. "Do you not agree, General?"

"Yes, Mister President. Captain Antipov is one of our best."

"I knew your mother, Captain. We were in the KGB together."

Orlov had reached the rank of Lieutenant Colonel before resigning to enter politics.

He knew my mother. He must know everything about her. Everything about me.

It was not a comfortable thought.

Orlov gestured and the aide stepped forward, holding an open box with Valentina's medal. It was round and gold, the size of a large coin. The ribbon was a dark, earth red. In the center was a double-headed Russian eagle, overlaid on an enameled knight's cross that matched the color of the ribbon. The medal was topped with two crossed swords. Orlov lifted it from its silk cushion.

"Captain Antipov." Orlov's voice turned formal.

"Sir." Valentina stiffened to attention.

"You are awarded the Medal of the Order for Merit to the Fatherland, 1st Class with Swords, for exceptional service. Your courageous actions have strengthened our nation and contributed to public order and safety. Wear it with pride."

Orlov reached up and pinned it over her left breast. The camera flashed as the photographer took his shots. She felt Orlov's hand linger on her breast. He stepped back.

"Thank you, Mister President. I will try to live up to this honor."

"I am sure you will, Captain."

The aide said, "Mister President, it is almost time to meet with the ambassador from Burundi."

"Captain, you must excuse me. General."

Vysotsky and Valentina saluted.

When he had left the room, Vysotsky said, "I think he likes you."

Valentina remembered the feel of Orlov's hand on her breast.

I hope he doesn't like me too much.

CHAPTER 17

Nick, Selena and Ronnie flew into Cairo on diplomatic passports, posing as UNESCO officials reviewing potential world heritage sites. Their luggage wouldn't be searched by customs. They'd brought their handguns with them.

The connecting flight touched down three hours later at Marsá Matruh. They rented a Land Rover at the airport.

"We need tools," Selena said, "in case we have to dig. "

"If anything's deep we won't find it," Nick said.

"I wasn't thinking of deep. But if something is part way exposed, a shovel might come in handy."

They stopped at a store on the way to their hotel and bought a shovel.

Selena had booked a four-star hotel on the Mediterranean coast. It turned out to be a tourist trap decorated in marble and gilt. An enormous crystal chandelier loomed over the lobby. The decor was supposed to convey wealth and elegance. It didn't quite work.

"This place looks like a Vegas casino, only chintzier. Way over the top," Ronnie said.

Nick looked up at the chandelier. "At least it's not all pyramids and pharaohs."

"Would you rather be in a hostel somewhere?" Selena asked sweetly. "Maybe a tent out on the desert?"

Ronnie held up his hands in protest. "Hey, I'm not complaining."

"It is a little overdone," Selena said, "but it will be comfortable."

"Comfort is good," Nick said.

The rooms were on the fifth floor. Nick and Selena took a suite. Ronnie was in a single room down the hall.

The central sitting area of the suite featured a desk, mini bar, couch and chairs. The room looked out over a pool surrounded by tables shaded by palm thatched umbrellas. A long, thatched bar with wooden stools added to the generic resort feel. Beyond the pool was the Mediterranean. The hotel could as easily have been in the Pacific or the Caribbean as in the Middle East. Past the pool, a white sand beach crowded with sunbathers gleamed in the sun. The fear of terrorist attacks wasn't making much of an impact here.

Nick stood at the window looking out at the scene. "Lot of people out there. I don't see any Westerners, just locals."

Ronnie and Selena joined him.

"What about him?"

Selena pointed at a cadaverous man sitting at the bar wearing a tan suit and a brimmed hat.

"He looks like that movie actor, what's his name," Ronnie said. "You know, the guy that played in those black and white horror movies."

"Boris Karloff," Nick said.

"That's him."

Selena sat down on the couch.

Nick sat down next to her.

Selena said, "They get sandstorms here, don't they?"

"They get them in Cairo, they must get them here."

"Big ones?"

"I suppose so. Why?"

"It would explain why no one has noticed what we're looking for. Sand could have covered it up."

"If it's buried we'll never find it."

Ronnie looked at his watch.

"Must be time to eat."

"Not yet, amigo," Nick said. He held up a hotel brochure from the coffee table in front of the couch. "Says here the restaurant doesn't open for another two hours."

"There are snacks on top of the mini bar," Selena said.

Ronnie went over to the mini bar and picked up a tiny package of cashews. Prices were listed in Egyptian pounds.

"Sixty pounds. How much is that in dollars?"

"An Egyptian Pound is worth about twelve or thirteen cents," Selena said. "So that bag of nuts is a little less than eight dollars."

"Eight bucks for a dozen nuts." Ronnie shook his head. He picked up a small plastic bottle of water. "Water is a deal, only fifty pounds."

"Not much different from anywhere else," Nick said. "Did you ever find a mini bar where things were cheap?"

"Come to think of it, no."

Ronnie took a package of nuts from the rack. He opened the door of the refrigerator and took out a Coke.

"I'll have one of those," Nick said. 

Ronnie tossed him a can. Nick popped the tab and the soda sprayed out over him.

"Damn it, Ronnie."

Selena smothered a laugh. "When do we head out to the ruins?"

"Tomorrow morning. I was thinking around eight."

"Cool. We'll have time for breakfast," Ronnie said.

That night Nick and Selena lay in bed. A gentle breeze that smelled of seaweed and saltwater came through the open windows on the balcony. A silvery moon cast soft light into the darkened room.

Selena lay with her head on Nick's shoulder, her arm stretched across his chest.

"It's almost like a vacation," she said.

"When was the last time we had a vacation?"

"That's easy. We haven't. Every time we try, something happens and we get called back."

"When this mission is over, we have to take time off. I'm getting burned out."

"Me too." After a moment she said, "Do you think what we do makes a difference in the long run?"

"The way our so-called world leaders run things? I doubt it. I'll settle for the short term."

"I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it," Selena said.

"Thinking about what we do reminds me of a song."

"Which one?"

"
The Thrill is Gone
. B.B. King."

"He was singing about a lover, not a job."

"Whatever."

Nick turned on his side to face her.

"I'll tell you one thing."

"What's that?"

He kissed her. "When I look at you, the thrill is definitely not gone."

They didn't talk much after that.